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Love in the Times of War: Raj & Norah | EXCERPTS

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26.02.2021

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For Raj and Norah, it was love at first sight, and in each other’s company, the young couple forgot the devastation of World War II that surrounded them. But as quickly as their story began, it was over – Raj was sent to London, Norah was posted to a hospital in Rome, and they wondered if they would ever see each other again.

Read an excerpt from this touching story of love lost, found, and reclaimed in the midst of war:

On the way up to Mussoorie from the village of Barlowganj – a hill station made famous by the British during the Raj, nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas at 6,000 feet – are scattered numerous houses, made of the same cold concrete walls and floors, and only distinguishable by the names given to them by their present and past occupants. There is Whitfield Cottage, Tammany Hall, Orchard Cottage, and one Florence Cottage, with its pale yellow outer walls and various plants, both wild and cultivated, climbing aimlessly up them. The front garden is barren – grass doesn’t grow at that altitude – but for a smattering of ancient rose bushes that still bloom to this day. The screened-in veranda had long ago been enclosed because of the mistaken belief that nothing of importance existed outside those gates. It is on this veranda, while seated on a steel trunk made bearable only by a blanket and moth-eaten cushions, that Florence Cottage’s sole resident conducts his daily business with the help, though he prefers to call them ‘domestics’.

Florence Cottage was built at the turn of the last century, as evidenced by the numerous cracks in the concrete floors and walls, bandaged with plywood and other handy materials. It has been home to Raj Kohli since his retirement from the Indian Army in 1967. Visitors to the house have been known to exclaim that the place is more like a museum than a home, whilst another proclaimed it needed to be torn down. But while these observations have been made often enough, Raj has no interest in moving. To him, life beyond the front gate of Florence Cottage does not exist. He is very content living there with his memories and photographs.

Each morning, whether the sun peers through the skylights or not, Raj awakens between 3.30 a.m. and 4 a.m. to begin his day. This routine has not changed in decades, nor is it likely to. Raj locates his walker and swings his legs on to the cold floor before grabbing the bars and pulling himself up. The first order of business is to put on his dressing gown and slippers, without which he cannot face the world. He begins his steady journey one step at a time and eventually reaches the doors leading to the TV room. He reaches for the wall switch and turns on the light. The room is not large. A threadbare Persian rug, which at some point was valuable, lies in the centre. The rug is not large enough to cover the entire floor, but manages to make a nuisance of itself, especially when it comes to Raj manoeuvring himself around. Invariably, it gets caught up in the legs of his walker and requires some manual dexterity to smooth down again.

The concrete walls of the TV room are dull yellow from age and are adorned with a few paintings. A portrait of Raj’s father, Mohan Singh Kohli, hangs over the fireplace, which hasn’t been used in decades. On an adjacent wall, above the door that leads to a bedroom, hangs a painting of Raj and his wife in their late sixties, both wearing matching colours. On the other walls hang a curious assortment of miniature reproductions by old masters, and framed postcards sent over the years by friends.

A wheeled table had been set up the night before by one of his domestics, Manju, with all he would need to make himself a pot of tea. Raj bends forward, turns on the electric kettle and walks to a chair, settling down with a sigh as he waits for the kettle to boil.

‘Good morning, darling! You fill my life with heaven and joy!’ he says loudly and waits for a reply. ‘Yes, thank you,’ he continues, ‘I slept very well last night. The tea kettle is on, and I’m sitting in my favourite chair waiting for it to boil.’ He pauses for a moment before he begins again. ‘Yesterday, before I went to bed, I was watching the television and on came a programme about Italy, and I immediately thought of the first time we met.’ Raj lets out a slight laugh as his mind wanders back to those days. ‘I’m sure you remember it as well. Anyway, I thought I should recite a poem for you today, something that reminds us of those days.’ He pauses for a moment as a smile grows. ‘Yes, quite right, “Ode on a Grecian Urn”.’

Just as Raj is about to begin the day’s recitation, the kettle begins to whistle. ‘We have to stop for a moment, darling,’ Raj says. ‘The kettle is boiling and making an awful racket.’

He pulls himself up with difficulty, wondering why he ever sits down to wait, and slowly makes his way across the annoying carpet. The kettle, furious at his delay, screams louder and louder.

‘All right, all right, all right,’ he says, as if the kettle can hear him.

Finally, he reaches the switch and turns it off, putting the kettle out of its misery. He fills the teapot with the boiling water and expertly pulls the cart backwards with him until he reaches his chair. He sits back down heavily and begins the countdown to when he can finally pour his cup of liquid gold. Five minutes. That was a time fixed, perhaps by the Viceroy of India, during the days of the British Empire. Obviously, a random number which someone decided would be optimum before the tea was fit for consumption. For Raj, though, it was a matter of guesswork as the only clock in the room, sitting on the mantelpiece, had last worked before World War I.

While Raj waits for his first cup, he returns to where he left off reciting the poem. By his expert judgement, he feels that once he completes the recitation his tea will be ready.

‘Now, where was I?’ A question he asks himself every morning, the answer to which he already knows. ‘Ah, yes!’ And with that, he begins again.

The words of the poem envelope him, his mind drifting back some eighty years, to when he first embarked on his journey across the seas to university in England.

A letter from Raj to Norah, excerpted from the book:

raj and norah excerptTo read more from Raj & Norah by Peter R. Kohli and Shaina Kohli Russo, pre-order your copy today!

Raj & Norah
About the Book - Raj & Norah

'Far from a conventional war story, Raj & Norah is poised at the threshold of worlds colliding - East and West, duty and desire, love and sacrifice. It is richly readable, and a fitting homage to an extraordinary couple who…

About the Author - Peter R. Kohli

PETER R. KOHLI worked in corporate America since emigrating to the US in 1977 from England, where he went to university and worked for many years. Since leaving the business world in 2016, he has spent his time writing.  

About the Author - Shaina Kohli Russo

SHAINA KOHLI RUSSO graduated from Pepperdine University in 2013 and worked in the entertainment industry for eight years. She currently lives in Nashville, Tennessee, where she is busy being a mom to two children and working on various writing projects.

To read more, order your copy of Raj & Norah, by Peter R. Kohli | Shaina Kohli Russo today!

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1 Comments

Top 1 Comments

The Log House | 06.05.2022

Very informative blog post. Thanks for sharing with us. Keep it up.


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